And I together make demands that often
burden one another in sorrows wept by
both while building words cast from
My past draws him a picture giving him
sudden thought and through my eyes
causes me to dream bringing sudden
joy so dear to him.
The scars and warts I carry, he knows
of them before I ever did, he chose me,
not me him. Yet like a beacon shining
bright he labors like no other can.
Praise is shallow for me, for why
would he? Just a reluctant sort he is
to praise me would defile and curse
all that may be dear to him.
He is not of my world, simply a
shadowy mist often times pouring
more wine to entice me to run
aground and let the coral crash
my ship and take me to the deep
abyss where total darkness avails
itself and cursed be me who
suffers his toil.
I keep coming back to him for
inspiration and like a true master
of his craft he awaits cunningly
smirking with his twisted smile
he freely offers me.
Like a squirming snake he hangs
about my neck, pulsating and ready
to squeeze the ink from my veins,
till every last drop is used up on the
silver page of gold trimmed pulp
lying before me.
His demands are consistent, yet
praise worthy at times and tempered
with his sarcastic witty jabs, knowing
I am weak and bow before his strength,
I succumb to another work and together
we define each others will.
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